


Hook, Line and Sinker

by ellingtonboots



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal - Fandom
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-29
Updated: 2013-06-29
Packaged: 2017-12-16 13:28:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/862544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellingtonboots/pseuds/ellingtonboots
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will discusses his childhood with the good doctor, revealing things about himself and his past slowly - including his first dog.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hook, Line and Sinker

**Author's Note:**

> This is a work in progress and will hopefully be updated soon.

The rocking of the boat, back and forth, with the slight waves was soothing. The air was cool against his perspiring brow and the wood was damp and old beneath his back. He lay, face turned upwards towards a pale blue sky, only few clouds skittering across it. Will rarely took the old row boat out on the lake; his dad didn’t much like it when he went out alone. He couldn’t remember why he’d felt the urge to push it out into the water and pull the oars in. Not to fish, not to row, just simply to drift. To be.   
Will closed his eyes and laid his cheek against the planking, pressing his face into the cool, soft fabric of the wood.

_Fabric?_

Will’s eyes fluttered open and a breath ripped into his lungs as the blue sky clouded over and darkened into brown eyes, staring intently into his own. He turned his head to see his fist, balled tightly into the front of an expensive shirt, creased and un-tucked now. The cool fabric against his cheek was Hannibal’s suit jacket.

“I – I didn’t - I wasn’t –“ Will spoke through gritted teeth. 

“Will.” 

His name was spoken softly, in a tone unlike Will could recall hearing from Hannibal. A tone he used himself, when calling to a stray dog. _Here, boy. Don’t worry. It’s safe. I won’t hurt you._

“Where did you go, Will?” Hannibal asked gently, looking down at him. Down. Will realised he was on the floor, Hannibal perched, somehow still graceful, on his knees in a suit that probably cost more than his entire wardrobe.   
The words spilled out of his mouth instinctively, a gut reaction to being asked that question, a response he had grown out of years ago.

“I - I’m sorry, I won’t do it again, I’m sorry.” 

The words were garbled and quick, and the very instant they were out Will breathed out slowly, his muscles starting to relax as his mind registered that the words were not needed. There was a quiet moment where the sound of his slowing breaths filled his ears.

“Will, tell me what you saw.” This time it was not a question, it was a command. Softly spoken but somehow more powerful than a shouted order. A wry smile twisted the corner of Will’s mouth into a near grimace.

“If you’re asking me to tell you who I murdered in my dreams this time, I’m afraid you’re in for disappointment, Doctor Lecter.” 

Will turned his head and realised his hand was still wound tightly into the fabric of Hannibal’s shirt. With a small start of embarrassment, Will pulled himself away from the other man, pulling his knees up and sitting facing him. Hannibal leaned closer by an infinitesimal degree, hands folded neatly in his lap.

“If there was no death lurking in your dream, what caused you to fall?” he asked, prying gently. “You had an anxiety attack, Will. Hallucinated vividly to the point of collapse. I caught you and you refused to let go of me. What did you see? Talk me through it.”

The idea of clinging to Hannibal so tightly made him knead his forehead in abject embarrassment. The hallucination was so different to the others this time; he could barely understand why it had triggered such a reaction. 

“Talk you through it. Right. Right.” Will muttered, pulling his hands away from his face with a sigh. He wrapped his arms around his torso, holding himself in, as if afraid that by describing what he had seen would somehow spill himself over and out of his body.

“It was nothing.” He began, a bitter laugh trying to escape. “It wasn’t even technically a hallucination, it was – it was just a memory. But it felt vivid and – sharp, like I was there now, not then.” He paused and looked up at Hannibal, his eyes skittering across the other man’s face before finally making eye contact.

“I was thirteen, out on the lake. Just drifting in the old rowboat we kept. It was half rotten and I wasn’t supposed to take it out on the water any more, never mind alone. I wasn’t meant to do anything much alone, matter of fact.” 

Hannibal kept silent, watching Will expressionlessly as he talked. It was if a stopper had been pulled and nothing could cease the flood of words now emanating from him.

“I went out on the boat anyway, sometimes. Or sat under the docks. Sometimes I just needed – needed to be by myself. It wasn’t his fault, he wasn’t a bad father, I was just – well, I was just me.” Again that sideways grimace of a smile tore his face. His eyes closed for a moment before opening again and looking away from the intense stare from Hannibal. Staring at the wall, Will continued.

“All I saw was the boat and the sky. It was peaceful. I remember that day though. He saw the boat drifting and started a commotion on shore. Made the lifeboat go out in case I’d fallen out or something. It was an old boat.” 

There was a pause, tense and full of expectancy. Will chewed his lower lip idly, lost in his memories.

“Your father didn’t trust you.”

It wasn’t quite a statement, not quite a question either. Will breathed in slowly and made a gesture somewhere between a nod and a shrug.

“I don’t think my father knew quite how to feel when it came to trusting me. But he definitely didn’t trust other people.” He said. “He took me home, gave me a lecture about taking the boat out, saying it wasn’t safe. What he really meant was it wasn’t safe for me to be out on my own like that.”

“And how did you respond?”

“Well, I didn’t. Not right away. I went to bed and then –“ Will paused and a short bark of genuine laughter slipped from between his lips. “I ran away. Or I tried. I ran straight to the docks, middle of the night, thirteen years old and I run straight to the first place he’d look. I sat under an older dock that wasn’t in use any more. The planks were rotten and falling apart. I sat there in the dark and I found…” Will trailed off, the small crease of a frown pulling his brow downward. 

“I found a dog. A bitch. She’d given birth to a litter and died during or soon after. She was laid on her side, muddy and collarless. She was intact, no deterioration, so it couldn’t have been long. There were about eight pups curled up to her. They were all cold, all dead. I think I - I threw up, I can’t remember. It was horrible. But then I heard a noise.”

“A noise? Your father?” Hannibal prompted, but Will shook his head, finally bringing his eyes back to make contact with the man kneeling opposite him. A small, quiet smile drifted across his lips.

“No,” he murmured, remembering fumbling through the cold, fragile bodies of the litter to find the source of the high pitched keening.

“A puppy.”


End file.
